


Burning

by yoshizora



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, Face-Sitting, PWP, idk if it counts as heatplay but morag gets set on fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-26 14:53:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13238088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: “Are you burning?”“Do you really need to ask that?” Mòrag incredulously raises one brow. “If anything, I would say I’m not burningenough.”





	Burning

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR HERE'S A PORN  
> kinda vanilla overall but what can u do [shrug]

“From Argentum,” Brighid says, carrying a small box that looks like it’d been tossed about one too many times. She locks the door behind her and goes to set the box down, deftly untying the mess of twine wrapped around it.

“Ah, the imported cosmetics I had ordered for you.” 

Mòrag, who had been idly polishing the blades of her whipswords, stands and stretches her arms, adding a couple rolls of her shoulders to release some of the tension that had been locked in there from the day’s battles. She’s tired. It must show on her face as well. Actually, she’s already undressed and had been ready to retire for the night before that courier had arrived with the package. 

“Oh! Splendid, none of the bottles are broken. I have to give credit to the Nopon for knowing how to take precautions against sloppy couriers.” Brighid removes one of the bottles and looks it over. She turns to Mòrag. “How are you feeling, Lady Mòrag?”

“A bit stiff, but otherwise fine.”

“Are you sure? If you need to sleep, don’t let me keep you up.”

Mòrag shakes her head. “It’s just…” She motions to her shoulders, flexing her joints for emphasis. “The day’s fights have taken their toll on me. Those Drivers we encountered were no pushovers.” 

“But they still didn’t stand a chance in the end,” Brighid smiles expectantly as Mòrag moves to the bed. She puts the bottle down and follows her, climbing up to kneel behind her as Mòrag sits at the edge. The routine is wordless and automatic, triggered by not much more than a slight change in the flow of ether in the air around Brighid, a cue that no one but Mòrag would be able to sense. 

Gently, firmly, she presses her thumbs against the stiffness between Mòrag’s neck and shoulders. Mòrag closes her eyes and bows her head, sighing out in relief as Brighid skillfully works the knots out. 

“When I tell you to be careful, I also mean that you shouldn’t overexert yourself.” She splays her hands flat against Mòrag’s back, spreading heat through her. At first she twitches, then relaxes beneath that searing touch, the rest of the lingering tension dissipated just like that. Pinpointing the exact spots to focus on comes like a second nature to Brighid now, as familiar as she is with Mòrag’s body. Perhaps she knows her body more than Mòrag knows it, actually. The thought makes her inwardly chuckle to herself. 

“Is it a problem when you have this miraculous healing power?”

Brighid rolls her eyes. “You know perfectly well what it is.”

Her hands slide over Mòrag’s shoulders and arms. She gently squeezes the hard muscles, pleased when they automatically flex in response. Physical proof of how deceptively _strong_ her Driver is. Without her uniform (or any clothes at all, really) it’s so much easier to see.

“If not that, then it’s a fine excuse for you to feel me up.”

A gasp. “You’re the one providing that excuse!”

“Haha… I would apologize for my brashness, but actions do speak louder than words.” 

Mòrag frowns when Brighid pulls her hands away, but then a new, secondary warmth is spreading across her body— all of it, from the crown of her head to the ends of her toes. She looks down at herself and realizes that their affinity link, typically reserved for battles, had activated. Her heart is pounding in anticipation, like a Feris about to embark on a hunt.

Then Brighid is standing before her, no longer kneeling on the bed behind her, chin tilted upwards when she looks down at her. It’s a challenge, if Mòrag’s ever seen one. She bends at the hip and lightly pushes at Mòrag’s chest. 

“Then prove it.”

“… But of course.”

Reinvigorated with a new burst of energy that seemingly comes from nowhere (but she knows exactly where it comes from), Mòrag springs to her feet and practically shoves her entire body against Brighid’s, teeth grazing against her jawline as she reaches to swiftly undo her heavy neckpiece. Brighid lets out a small noise of surprise but offers little resistance, all too glad to allow Mòrag to take the lead. Almost unceremoniously, Mòrag tosses the neckpiece aside (it lands noiselessly on the second bed) and pulls back just enough to watch Brighid’s dress and belt fall in a pile around her feet. She kicks it all aside, then just as roughly pulls her panties down in one movement like an afterthought. 

“How _crude_ ,” Brighid mutters, this time the one to nibble at Mòrag’s jaw. She kneads at the muscles between her neck and shoulders, discharging more heat upon the other woman. “For someone who typically spends half an hour carefully removing her own clothes.”

“You do call me hasty at times, do you not?” Mòrag grins and pushes Brighid up against the wall, her knee finding its way between her legs. 

“Hah, you just love to prove my points.” She breathes out, tightly wrapping her arms around Mòrag and swiftly pulling her hair from its bun. This is so unlike that reserved grace she exudes during the day. The Special Inquisitor that their friends and the Empire and everyone else in Alrest knows is prim and proper and wouldn’t even consider a chaste peck on the cheek in front of company. It’s exhilarating, frankly, knowing that she’s the only one who’s privy to this side of Mòrag that’s like a hungry beast. 

Whatever sound Brighid is about to make when Mòrag abruptly hooks a hand beneath her thigh to draw her leg up is securely muffled by a deep kiss, hard and dizzying and so very _hot_ , only exacerbated by Brighid’s own natural heat. It’s almost painful. Almost. Mòrag’s teeth clips against her lips and tongue and she’s breathing nearly just as hard, perfectly manicured nails digging into soft skin. 

Brighid moans into the kiss, knowing full well that she’s only spurring Mòrag on further. It’s their affinity link— she’s consciously inundating her Driver with a deluge of ether energy, goading her on and on. There’s no battle for Mòrag to focus that energy into. Without that usual channelling, it only seems to make her unusually aggressive.

Which is exactly Brighid’s intent. Which Mòrag is perfectly aware of. 

She grinds her hips forward, earning a low growl from Mòrag. “Brighid…”

“Don’t you dare hold back, Lady Mòrag,” Brighid hisses, and she reaches down to roughly squeeze Mòrag’s ass with both hands as if she there was a need for emphasis. 

As if she could refuse a demand like that. A jolt runs up her spine at the contact and Mòrag breaks the kiss off to lift Brighid, allowing the other woman to freely wrap her legs around her. At this level her face is now at the same height as Brighid’s core crystal; without even thinking she bites down, her tongue lashing over it. 

Her heart’s pounding faster than it’d ever had in any battle. The ether is nearly _overwhelming_ now— she could feel a new rush of it flowing into her the moment her mouth made contact with that searingly hot core crystal. Lights wildly flash behind her eyelids. Mòrag can hear Brighid moaning and feel her hands burning against her back without leaving marks. She feels weightless in her arms. 

Brighid grips fistfuls of Mòrag’s hair as her mouth moves away from her core crystal and over her breasts. This jerk— she’s deliberately leaving marks, taking her time with nibbling and sucking at Brighid. It’s a non-issue, her dress would cover it all up anyway, and the hickies upon the skin around her core crystal won’t be visible either, but— Mòrag’s doing _something_ with her tongue now, against the crystal once more.

She opens her eyes.

As if sensing this, Mòrag instantly looks up and makes eye contact. 

Brighid’s breath escapes her chest in a single gasp— _the look in her eyes_ — head spinning as Mòrag carries her to the bed and roughly drops her onto her back. The mattress is still slightly bouncing when Mòrag crawls over her, and Brighid is quick to wrap her legs around her again, pulling their bodies close together once more. 

“Exactly how much ether did you save for this?” Mòrag asks, propping herself up with one hand to allow the other to roam freely over Brighid’s torso and breasts. 

“A lot,” she groans, arching her back when Mòrag’s fingers pass over her nipple. 

“And here I was, assuming I had been the brash one.”

“Don’t worry, you still are.” A smirk. It quickly turns into a helpless whimper as Mòrag pinches her, purposely a bit too hard. 

“You certainly know how to provoke me in just the right ways.” 

“Didn’t… I tell you… not to hold back…?” She manages to gasp out in between her whimpering. 

“That, you did.” The ether around them is violently flowing like a storm. Her excitement is spiking. That heat which had been pooling in her lower regions feels like a roaring fire— everything feels like it’s on fire, actually, and Mòrag is suddenly grateful for her Ardainian resilience to heat and other resistances as Brighid’s Driver. She’d likely be uncomfortably sweltering right now, otherwise. 

Or just plain dead, because Brighid’s on fire right now, as well. Her arms, legs, and hair are all blazing, literally engulfing Mòrag in blue flames and scorching the sheets (she’ll have to pay the inn handsomely in the morning, before they leave). 

“Then, Lady Mòrag, when are you going to properly fuck me?” 

She only _laughs_ , and Brighid frowns in annoyance. Without warning, Mòrag grabs her by the hips and flips them both over, effortlessly, her body still surging with an excess of ether energy, settling Brighid on top of her. 

“Wha—“

“We aren’t at Hardhaigh,” Mòrag says, eyes flickering back and forth between Brighid’s face and her breasts rather shamelessly. “This bed isn’t fireproof. You should be on top.” 

“I’m perfectly capable of controlling my own fire.” Brighid tries to dismount, but Mòrag has a secure grip on her waist. 

“Ah, please, don’t move from there. I’m enjoying the view.”

“ _Lady Mòrag!_ ”

She laughs again, and takes Brighid’s wrists and guides her hand over her torso. All too eager to take the cue, Brighid averts her gaze down, marveling at the sculpted perfection of her body. 

Just for a little retribution, she roughly squeezes one of Mòrag’s nipples between her fingers, pleased when Mòrag winces. She drags her fingertips down lower, leaving angry red trails of scratches, until they come to a stop at both their groins. Experimentally, she rolls her hips. 

Mòrag watches her closely, assisting Brighid with moving a bit further up to straddle her abdomen, where she begins to grind down with more vigor. Then— oh, Architect, she’s touching herself, playing with her own breasts as she eagerly rubs her wetness all over Mòrag’s torso, the look on her face alone nearly enough to send Mòrag over the edge. One of Mòrag’s hands finds its way between Brighid’s legs and to her clit, setting right to rubbing her in the same rhythm as her steady movements. Her hand may very well burn right off with the amount of pure heat Brighid is exerting. The storm of ether around them is now a hurricane, the flames brushing up against the ceiling and illuminating the entire room in an ethereal blue light. 

“L-Lady Mòrag…” Brighid gasps, panting hard. She plants her hands against Mòrag’s sides, bracing herself as she reluctantly pauses. It’s not enough. Just rubbing herself against Mòrag’s abs isn’t enough, not with how much energy she had accumulated. “Can I…?”

She doesn’t even need to ask. Their mutual understanding runs far deeper than that. Mòrag withdraws her fingers and delicately licks the familiar taste off. 

“Please do.” 

If the bed wasn’t in any danger of being incinerated then, it certainly is now. Brighid quickly shuffles forward on her knees, urged along by Mòrag’s hands pulling at her hips, until she’s positioned directly over her Driver’s face. Then, for some reason, she hesitates even as Mòrag impatiently tries to pull her down. Lingering flames are still licking at Mòrag’s skin from where Brighid had been touching and rubbing against her earlier.

“Are you burning?”

“Do you really need to ask that?” Mòrag incredulously raises one brow. “If anything, I would say I’m not burning _enough._ ” 

She laughs. “Just making sure.” 

And lowers herself. Mòrag, always quick to act, kisses heavily at Brighid’s folds and pushes her tongue up against her, the heat of her mouth practically cold in comparison. Brighid tightly grips the headboard and moans, grinding down hard against Mòrag’s face with abandon, her core crystal practically singing with blistering heat that draws in an inordinate amount of ether from the air. Elsewhere, in the inn, other Blades in other rooms wonder why they suddenly feel rather exhausted. 

Blindly but not unskillfully, Mòrag’s tongue finds its way inside her. She holds onto her hips as if there’s any danger of Brighid pulling herself away (there isn’t), breathing hard through her nose, the tastes and smells and pressure against her face even overwhelming the ether still cascading through her entire being. 

It’s really fucking hot. Literally, for the most part. 

Brighid begins to writhe and grind more insistently, slurring out Mòrag’s name in between gasping moans. Most of her is on fire— which Brighid fails to notice, no longer looking down at her, her vision obscured by flames and lights alike, indistinguishable from one another as she gradually rides Mòrag’s face to orgasm. 

She cries out, loudly. Even as she finally goes still, trembling, Mòrag continues to kiss and lap at her, still clutching her hips and holding her in place.

“Are you done…?” Brighid breathes out with a small laugh, realizing she’d broken off a piece of the headboard. Oops. 

“Are _you,_ Brighid?” is Mòrag’s only reply, muffled. 

Their affinity link hasn’t even begun to die down, the golden glow accented by Brighid’s flames. Brighid tosses that broken piece of headboard aside and gently runs her hands through Mòrag’s hair to get her attention. 

“Let’s at least change positions.”

“I’m still enjoying the view, thank you.” 

She can _feel_ Mòrag grinning against her. Brighid scoffs and lightly pulls at her hair, and Mòrag finally releases her grip, allowing Brighid to dismount. 

Mòrag sits upright with a somewhat disappointed frown as Brighid wordlessly climbs off the bed. “I— I wasn’t trying to tease you, intentionally.” 

“Mmh, if you say so.” Brighid turns to face her, back against the opposite wall. Her hands move down her body and linger over her crotch before beckoning to Mòrag. That _smirk._ Mòrag can feel her throat running dry all over again. “As for me, personally, I’d like to see the Special Inquisitor on her knees.” 

“Ah— that… that can easily be arranged.” Breathlessly, Mòrag practically clambers over and drops down to her knees with no hesitation before Brighid, reverently licking at the mess she’d left between her thighs without any prompting. She softly groans when Brighid takes her face in both hands, burning thumbs running along her wet lips, two fingers pushing their way into her mouth. Rather messily, she sucks at the digits.

“You always go above and beyond to please me, don’t you?” Brighid smiles fondly down at her, stroking her cheek. Mor Ardain’s most powerful Driver, the Empire’s Special Inquisitor, the _Flamebringer_ , is willingly submitting just to her and her only. What a wondrous privilege.

“I’m not holding back, just as you had requested of me. That is all.”

“Then…” Her fingers push against Mòrag’s tongue, another wordless message easily read. Brighid bites her lip, almost unsure now that she realizes how many demands and requests she’d been making, but Mòrag seems more than happy to comply, sitting back on her haunches and continuing to suck on Brighid’s fingers as her own hand wanders down between her legs. She closes her eyes. 

Watching Mòrag pleasure herself right there on the floor is enough to cause Brighid to unintentionally set her on fire all over again. Small flames burst from her mouth around Brighid’s fingers, and Mòrag chokes out of reflex, but she grabs Brighid’s wrist with her free hand to keep her fingers in place. Fire and saliva alike drip down her chin. A shiver runs up Brighid’s back. She’s searing all over again, and without even thinking she hooks a leg over Mòrag’s shoulder and pulls her face in by the back of her head. 

Once again, Mòrag eagerly goes right to work with eating her out. No holding back, indeed. 

But that can also be faulted to Brighid for overwhelming her Driver with ether energy, probably. 

“ _Exceptional_ —” she gasps, unable to think of any other words to string together into a coherent sentence. From this angle she can no longer see Mòrag touching herself, but the sensation of just _knowing_ enough to vividly see it in some corner of her mind through their iron affinity link is enough. Mòrag trembles, her tongue clumsily lashing inside Brighid, and Brighid can sense her approaching her limit as well. Her grip on her Driver’s hair painfully tightens as she hits her second orgasm of the evening, tossing her head back and crying out. 

Her back is bleeding— Brighid’s heel had broken through her skin. Mòrag grunts in pain, then groans in pleasure, dispelling all that gathered ether energy in her own climax, intense hellfire burning her inside and out, leaving her utterly spent and leaning her forehead against Brighid’s legs, panting like she’d nearly drowned. Her own blood is warm against her back. It dries beneath the flames that still coat her skin.

It’s quiet, save for the sound of their heavy breathing.

“… Sorry,” Brighid says after a long moment to catch her breath. She caresses Mòrag’s face. “Your back…”

“Just a scratch,” she mumbles, eyes half-lidded and hazy. The fires scatter and slowly die down, finally, and their affinity link gently breaks off. 

They manage their way to the bed, where Mòrag immediately collapses and pulls Brighid down with her. The sheets are scorched, as is the patch of carpet where Mòrag had been kneeling. 

What a mess. Brighid lets out a breathy laugh, and brushes a strand of hair away from Mòrag’s face. “I may have been a bit overzealous with the ether.” 

“You should do that more often,” Mòrag says, after a yawn. She licks her lips and burrows in close to Brighid, hiding her face between her breasts. “I’ll see if we can arrange a quick visit to Hardhaigh soon.”

“Of course. The damages may be a bit difficult to explain to the innkeeper.”

“With enough monetary compensation, I don’t think they’ll be asking any questions at all.” 

Discussing the consequences of property damage isn’t quite Brighid’s ideal pillowtalk, but Mòrag is clinging to her so closely and that’s good enough. Their legs tangle together, and Brighid relaxes in the embrace.

“We can deal with that tomorrow.”

“Mmh,” Mòrag nods, already drifting off to sleep.


End file.
